Gray Skies

She's lying, she has to be

Chapter 19

She’s lying, she has to be

I can tell winter is getting close, the condensation on my windows from the foggy night dripping down the glass like tears, the orange glare of the sun pouring into my room from the sides, the air around me thick and moist, the sensation of tiredness revitalised. I wake up, do my daily routine and get to work to cater for all those whining clients again. The day goes on as sluggish as ever.

Is it me or is time moving extra slow today? Maybe it’s because my minds in hyper drive. I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to say to her most of the day.

I’ve stopped counting the days it’s been since I spoke to her, or heard from her. Now when the phone comes to life I feel nothing, as if I’m numb, my mind blank and the only thoughts that reside in there are the echoing words from Fomi, I can imagine them bouncing off the inside walls of my brain trying to escape.

I hark back to an afternoon by the coast, a drenched piece of driftwood in my hand, feet occasionally immersed in the edge of the sea, surrounded by the sound of the waves caused by the retreat of the overflow, the salt water shrivels the souls of my feet.

I dig a hole into the soft wet ground, the grains of sand getting stuck between my nails, no matter how quickly or how deep I dug or get rid of the water seeping in, it would magically get filled up again with the same clear liquid. I use the piece of driftwood to engrave our names into the sand, surrounded by a boundary, the shape that of a heart, moments later it’s covered by the oceans froth, I make a vain attempt to create a barrier between it using the piece of wood, feeling a sharp pain across my middle finger, the splinter hurt for weeks every time I clinched onto something, eventually my body pushed it out. The froth disappears and so does her name from above mine, all that’s left, is me and a broken heart.

After staring at my phone, contemplating the consequences of dialing that number, the one I haven’t seen on my screen for months now, I decide to call her, break out of this hard shell, a temporary skin. Whatever happens, happens. Its better then staying like this, atleast I’ll know then.  With each ring I prepare myself of how to react to her voice, her pressing the lit up red button on the phone, her being cold, her not being mine, the fluctuant heart beat causing irregular breaths, my thumb on my red button, ready for defense.

“Hello?” she picks up

“Hey, it’s me” a lump rises to my throat as I start to contemplate what she would say next

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m good thanks, how are you? You mind if I call you on your other number?”

“Sure, give me a few minutes, I need to find it”

I end the call, still, catching my breath allowing the lump in my throat to descend, my body slumps, as I start to nick my thumb nail in anticipation of what was to come next, my eyes erratic like trying to follow the bonus ball in a lottery ball machine. The conversation takes place, longer then I expected, more exhaustive then I cared to bear. The room seems darker and the ambulance turns up again, I’m left once again, staring and motionless, I can’t even remember breathing, I was distinctively confused.

She has to be lying, there is no way, what? 6 weeks? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t believe it. Naah, she wouldn’t, she couldn’t do that? She would have found out herself if that was the case. Why ask me? She wouldn’t do that? But she was so stern about the whole thing. She’s probably saying it to push me away, maybe she knows I won’t believe her yet my feelings would change? Maybe she…maybe she wanted to see if I believed her or not, if I think she’d do such a thing? What if I didn’t react the way she wanted me to, but why she….why would she do something so impulsive, she’s not impulsive. She’s…just trying to test me, isn’t she?

Why do those closest to you hurt you the most? Maybe it’s because you have certain expectations from them and when they are not met you feel hurt and betrayed, the thought reversal machine kicking in, the decryption machine at its best. Maybe because you can’t imagine yourself ever doing the same to them, what gives them the right to do it to you? Maybe you have given your all to them and in return they show nothing to be grateful for. Maybe it’s just disappointment.

I reach for the plastic wallet under my bed, which holds a part of my life in writing, a pile of letters that I wrote to her, a page or two a day for countless days, flicking through the sheets of paper with my thumb, like going through my lost months and how I vented out what I wanted to say to her in writing. She’ll probably never get to read it.

It’s been a while since I didn’t lie in my bed like an insomniac wondering how many more sheep are there ready to jump over the fence. There was always one more on the other side. It’s been a while since I wasn’t able to hear myself breath and think. I slept that night, like I used to. Not finding the need to try stay awake to tire my eyes so I can fall asleep. It’s been a while since.